


treated lightly sacred things

by the_dot



Series: the children's hour [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Gen, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slice of Life, can't believe i forgot that tag, i don't know if i'm allowed to tag this as crack but that's what i meant for it to be, i'll add chapters to this later but there's no narrative here just a lot of fluff, it's not that important i just don't have a set idea of where stuff goes, let's answer that question with a lot of very silly drabbles, there's like a quarter of a line of geralt/yen, was written with jaskier/geralt/yen in mind but it's only barely implied, what if geralt had showed up to meet his child surprise earlier?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dot/pseuds/the_dot
Summary: "It’s been almost eight months since the banquet—” here Geralt’s face goes from vaguely annoyed, which to be fair is just his normal face, to Downright Murderous— “and yoursurpriseis due any minute now. That doesn’t haveanythingto do with the fact that you were desperate enough to go find a djinn just to get a nap?”
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: the children's hour [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611094
Comments: 38
Kudos: 221
Collections: Stories Which Made for a Better Day





	treated lightly sacred things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XPerimental](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XPerimental/gifts).



> this au was supported by the wonderful [xperiwrites](https://xperiwrites.tumblr.com/) who bounced a bunch of ideas back and forth with me on [this post](https://the-dot.tumblr.com/post/190331711820/as-someone-from-a-coastal-town-jaskier-is). thanks for the support! :D  
> general disclaimer: i haven't read the books or played the games, and i don't really care about historical accuracy or the extremely convoluted timeline. i just wanted to write silly family shenanigans, if something is there that doesn't make sense (such as yennefer being there or ciri having a dress-up day at school), understand that it is For The Fluff. that said, i hope you enjoy!

“Alright,” Jaskier says, once they’re out of Rinde and settled in an inn a few hours’ ride away. Normally, they would be reluctant to waste the coin when Geralt doesn’t have a contract and especially when Jaskier doesn’t feel up to playing, but Geralt hadn’t protested when Jaskier had subtly (for him) steered them toward the town. They’ve each demolished plates of food neither of them had to hunt, scavenge, or cook themselves, and Geralt is now looking as content as he ever does, so Jaskier feels safe in broaching this topic. “So we’re in agreement that today has been terrifying, yes?”

Geralt _hmm_ s, nursing his ale, and Jaskier takes this to mean _yes, Jaskier, you’re completely right._

“Right. So. What if, to prevent this from happening again, we tackle the root cause of the issue.”

Geralt raises his eyes to Jaskier’s, making him feel rather like a pinned butterfly, though Jaskier generally feels like that when Geralt looks at him so it’s probably not Geralt’s fault. “I slept,” he says. “I don’t need another djinn.”

“Yes, but why weren’t you sleeping _before_ sex with the insane and sexy sorceress,” Jaskier presses. “I think I know! It’s been almost eight months since the banquet—” here Geralt’s face goes from vaguely annoyed, which to be fair is just his normal face, to Downright Murderous— “and your _surprise_ is due any minute now. That doesn’t have _anything_ to do with the fact that you were desperate enough to go find a djinn just to get a nap?”

Geralt glowers at him. Before he can reply, a snippet of conversation from a few tables over drifts into their hearing.

“Did you hear?” the person asks their companion. “Cintra’s princess just had her baby.”

“Bit soon after her wedding, innit?”

“Oh, hush, royals are people too—”

Jaskier can’t hear the rest of the conversation over Geralt’s glare, but he gives his friend a pointed look. Fate might as well be waving a shiny banner in Geralt’s face saying _YOU HAVE A DUTY TO YOUR CHILD SURPRISE._

“I’m not saying you should snatch up the babe this minute,” Jaskier says, holding up a hand as if it will stave off the disgruntled malice oozing across the table, though Geralt’s directing it at his mug of ale, for which Jaskier is grateful. “But what if you go and check in every few years? There’s nothing in the Law that says you have to claim the child immediately, is there? Just make sure they’re alright. Maybe you can convince Calanthe to release her iron grip enough to figure out the...screaming situation.”

The tilt of Geralt’s brow is less murderous and more thoughtful, so Jaskier claps a hand on his shoulder and goes to refill both their mugs. With luck, Geralt will see the sense in dear friend’s argument before he gets back and they can celebrate an excellent idea courtesy of Jaskier, but if not—well, alcohol can’t hurt his case.

* * *

Geralt stares at Cirilla. Cirilla stares...in his general direction. He’s pretty sure babies this small can’t see very well yet.

“You can hold her, if you like,” Pavetta says. Once she understood that Geralt had no intentions of snatching her baby out from under her, she had been by far the most welcoming of her family, and now on her invitation he stands in the nursery, feeling incredibly out of place. It probably shows.

“Ah,” Geralt says, not knowing how to say _absolutely fucking not_ without sounding like an ass. He looks to Jaskier for help.

“Of course he will!” the bastard chirps. He scoops up the baby himself, chattering at her. “Hello, little one, you’re so cute! She looks just like you,” he says to Pavetta, who smiles. He then turns to Geralt. “Honestly, Geralt, she won’t bite you. Sit down and put your arms like this,” he instructs, and then Geralt finds himself pushed down onto the nearest chair with an armful of baby.

She stares up at him with watery blue eyes. “Guh,” she says, and reaches for his medallion. It’s three times bigger than her hand, and she gives up the effort after a moment, settling for tugging on his hair.

It’s not hard enough to be painful, but he still would rather she didn’t; however, he’s fairly certain that if he does anything but sit perfectly still, he’s going to break her. Only instinct saved him from dropping her immediately. He sighs and resigns himself to being bested by a six-month-old baby, something Jaskier will no doubt poke fun at later.

* * *

“See,” Jaskier says, watching the White Wolf sit petrified of a baby chewing on his hair. “I knew this was a good idea.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says.

“Hrr!” Cirilla replies. Geralt’s eyes flick to her, considering.

“Hmm,” he says again, a little louder. Cirilla mimics him again, and though he doesn’t quite smile the ever-present lines on his face soften ever so slightly.

“I take it back, this was a mistake,” Jaskier says quietly after a few minutes of Witcher and baby making silly sounds at each other, but he can’t bring himself to mean it, not when Geralt’s face is well on its way to a real smile.

* * *

Geralt steps into the princess’s sitting room, expecting nothing out of the ordinary, and stops dead.

“Hi, Geralt!” Ciri chirps. She bounces across the room to wrap her thin arms around him, and he hugs her back reflexively. Nothing in all his years prepared him to be confronted by a pint-sized version of himself, and so he finds himself at a loss for words. Ciri doesn’t seem to notice or care, and she has enough words for both of them.

“At school today we were supposed to dress up as someone we admire! Mouseack helped me with the armor,” she says, unsticking herself from his side. She holds out her arms to show off the glued-together black paper, slightly crumpled at the edges after a day of wear. “Grandma wouldn’t let me make swords or go without brushing my hair but I think I did okay! What do you think?’

“It’s fine,” Geralt says after a beat. He feels a bit like Jaskier after the djinn. “It’s fine. Did you have fun.”

“I did! You said it’s fine twice. We also wrote an essay! Do you want to see it?”

“Mm.” He sits down and lets her read her essay to him, and if he lies and says he forgot something in his saddlebags so he can escape and breathe till he can school his face into neutrality, well, Roach isn’t going to tell anyone.

* * *

"Princess," a very longsuffering Mouseack says. "What are you doing."

"Geralt is teaching me how to pick locks!" Ciri says happily. Geralt is seated next to her on the floor near the door handle, a curiously stained set of lockpicks spread between them.

"Calanthe is going to murder you," Mouseack says to Geralt.

Geralt hums. To Ciri he says, "You're holding the pick the wrong way. Hold it so you can defend yourself with it if someone sneaks up on you." He adjusts her grip and shows her how to make a vaguely threatening motion. When he nods at her, she beams and cheers.

Melitele help me, Mouseack thinks, and goes to find the Queen and possibly some strong drink.

* * *

When they arrive, Ciri’s still attending to whatever duties young princesses have to attend to. Yennefer, in an attempt to stave off boredom and keep herself out of any bad habits (such as sneaking off with Geralt into a corner or riling up Mouseack), suggests a game of Gwent. Geralt agrees readily enough, and the first round is drawing to a close by the time Ciri finds them. Rather than greeting either of them, she stands on her tiptoes at the edge of the table and squints. “Who’s winning?” she asks.

Yennefer puts down the rest of her hand, and Geralt sighs through his nose, though he doesn’t look very put out. “I did,” Yennefer says, and Ciri beams and jumps into her arms.

After a moment, she turns to Geralt, usually her first choice for hugs, and shrugs. “Only winners get hugs. Sorry, Geralt.”

Yennefer grins at the blank look on Geralt’s face, then cackles so hard she has to put Ciri down for fear of dropping her when Geralt, not breaking eye contact, deals a new round.

The second round ends with Ciri wound around Geralt’s shoulders, and he stares Yennefer in the eye, mouth curling ever so slightly, as Ciri laughs in his arms.

“So _that's_ how it is?" she says, snatching the deck and dealing the last round.

It’s a draw, because of course it is. Geralt turns to Ciri. “Who gets the hug, then?”

“Neither,” Ciri sniffs. “A draw isn’t a win.” She gets up and flounces off, leaving Yennefer and Geralt staring after her.

Yennefer gets up and sweeps Ciri into her arms before she can get away and begins tickling her within an inch of her life.

“Only _winners_ get hugs!” Ciri insists through her giggles. She’s only half in Yennefer’s arms and much heavier than the last time she tried to pick Ciri up (have children always grown _so fast_?) so Yennefer sits back down across from Geralt, who watches the scene with obvious amusement.

“You’ve been captured,” Yennefer says seriously, as if she isn’t holding Ciri nearly upside down. “I call that winning.” 

“ _Geralt_ ,” Ciri whines. "Help!"

“I didn’t win,” he says, far too innocent for a man over six feet tall dressed in black leather. “What can I do?”

* * *

After an eventful sneak into the city, Mouseack takes one look at her and sighs. “How did you break your hand?” he asks tiredly as he’s patching her up. Ciri doesn’t answer, just tucks her chin in and tries not to cry.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep your thumb outside your fist when you hit someone?” Grandma asks, gently teasing. “Who’d you hit?” Ciri doesn’t answer her, either.

The next time she sees Geralt, he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t ask, and they go riding in the woods as normal. After a while, unable to stand the silence and the whirring of her own thoughts, Ciri brings it up herself.

“Do Witchers have feelings?” she asks. He turns to her slightly and gives her a Look; she thinks this one means he wants to know why she asked. “A few days ago, some people in the square were—talking about you.”

“So that’s how you broke your hand,” he says, and though his face doesn’t change Ciri flushes like it was a rebuke.

“They were calling you a mutant,” she argues.

“I _am_ a mutant,” he replies. “It isn’t always a bad thing.”

“They called you a _monster_.” He fights real monsters, and though she’s never seen one—Grandma didn’t have to forbid Ciri from joining Geralt on his hunts, he did before the question was half out of her mouth—she knows he isn’t like them.

“Hm,” he says.

“They’ve never even _seen_ a monster,” she says, dangerously close to whining. “How can they say you’re a monster when you’re protecting them from real ones?”

Geralt sighs, but in the way that says he’s gathering his thoughts, not ignoring her entirely, so Ciri bites her lip and tries to be patient.

“Humans will always believe what they want,” he says eventually. “I can’t change them. It’s my actions that make me monster, not their words.”

They ride in silence for a time.

“Did I do the wrong thing?” she asks, a little subdued. He only looks at her as if to say _what do you think?_

Ciri thinks for a while. “I won’t do it again,” she says at last. “I don’t regret it, though.”

Geralt huffs out a half-laugh. “Good enough.”

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” she asks toward the end of their ride. “ _Do_ Witchers have feelings?”

He stares at the space between Roach’s ears, and for a while Ciri thinks he isn’t going to answer. She tries to tell herself it doesn’t matter; even if he doesn’t feel anything, he’s better person than many normal humans she could name, and he treats everyone with the same respect they give him. That’s what counts, right?

“We do,” he says eventually, startling her out of her thoughts. “I didn’t think I did for a long time, and maybe for a while I didn’t. But—” He raises his eyes suddenly, and she follows his gaze; they’re approaching the stables, where Yennefer is arguing with Jaskier; they look as if they’ve just ridden in. Jaskier catches sight of Geralt and Ciri and waves, face lighting up as if he wasn’t arguing with a powerful mage only seconds ago. Yenna turns and gives them a smile. Geralt looks at Ciri, then, and she feels rather pinned. “I’ve been proven wrong, recently.”

She thinks as Jaskier and Yenna crush the both of them in a hug (Geralt’s is slightly longer than hers, but she doesn’t mind) that he looks very happy to have been wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> title from [the responsibility of fatherhood](https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/the-responsibility-of-fatherhood-by-edgar-guest) by edgar guest. (gonna be honest, i just googled cute poems about family until i found one that kind of fit.)  
> comments, questions, and constructive criticism welcome! if you want to say something a little more directly, i'm on tumblr at [the-dot](https://the-dot.tumblr.com/). i definitely plan on writing more for this au, and i'm open to prompts if you have any!  
> (A Few Hours Later edit: minor things changed for better flow. one of these days i'll start sitting on my works a few days before posting.)


End file.
